


Blood & Dusk

by fouryearslater (CheshireCatLife)



Series: Tales Of Love, Family and Loss II [One Shots] [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Turned Into Vampire, Family Angst, Family Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/fouryearslater
Summary: Immortality is as much a curse as it is a blessing. Some people choose it, and some don't. Some have it thrust upon them without warning, without fair dues, without goodbyes.But Magnus isn't going to let Rafe go through this alone.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Max Lightwood-Bane & Rafael Lightwood-Bane
Series: Tales Of Love, Family and Loss II [One Shots] [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661071
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Back with another one :D Sorry I'm doing two of these at once but this literally has no coherent update schedule apart from that fact that I'm trying to release something every day.
> 
> This one was a little harder than the rest to write yet it somehow got 98/100 on Grammarly (a stupid measure to be proud of, I know, yet I kinda still am so sue me) so I really hope this is actually good! Here's some family feels, enjoy!

Max isn’t with him tonight. It’s not entirely new but it’s rare enough that it sets every one of his survival instincts off. The blasting moonlight bares him in the darkness; the thick smell of garbage chokes him. Even the rough feel of the brick wall underneath his palm is enough for his hair to be standing on end. He feels naked in nighttime’s easy clutch.

It isn’t an official patrol tonight. Rafe doesn’t really do those. Max does, when they allow him to, but that’s because it’s his dream, not his duty. Rafe does as much as is necessary but his mind is set on policy. He followed in his parents’ footsteps, becoming a diplomat between the Shadowhunters and Downworlders. The world of politics may not be the one he thrives in but it is the one where he feels the most useful and he’s learnt over the years that that is what matters to him in the end.

Tonight, he’d been coming back from a friend’s, traipsing through dusk’s streets with the steady footsteps of a soldier, when he had caught the sight of something lurking in the alleyway. He’s never sure of what it is; a demon, a man or worse. But the teachings of his childhood lure him forward, into the damp darkness of a forgotten piece of earth.

“Oh, well this is just perfect.”

Rafe feels something latch into his neck; moments later, the world is black.

~*~

“Where is he? He was supposed to be back…hours ago!”

“He’s nineteen,” Alec interrupts but his voice is shaking just as much. He’s pacing the room, his footsteps the only clarity in this bubble of chaos. His arms are folded over his chest, hugging himself tightly, and his fingers are edging his lips like he might bring back a childhood habit and start biting them.

Magnus is no better; his hair is a bird’s nest and his face is bare. He’s sat on the sofa, head held forlornly in his hands as his leg bounces incessantly against the carpet. Max is still asleep, shut behind his door. They checked. Twice.

Sunlight is starting to peek out from the horizon, dawn’s early shadow casting New York in a freakish orange glow, spilling like paint against the dark buildings. It creates the atmosphere of a disaster, like a looming monster about to reign down terror. Or maybe that’s just Magnus’ panic at work.

“And he lives at home. He would have texted if he wasn’t coming back.”

“He’s nineteen,” Alec repeats, though Magnus thinks it’s mostly for himself at this point, like he can persuade himself that their son is safe.

“He’s reliable,” Magnus argues, “he’d always message.”

“What if his phone ran out?”

“He was at Alexei’s! He would have just charged it up.”

“He might just be-“

There’s a knock on the door, cutting their conversation off sharply. Alec is the first to rush to the door, being closest. A small prayer seems to escape his lips before he opens the door, a prayer that his son might be okay, or maybe just that it’s not the damn postman.

It’s not the postman.

“I- I’m really sorry,” the boy stutters. “I found him on the streets and I recognised him and I just-“

“What’s your name,” Alec says lowly, a growl in his throat.

“William. Will. I- I don’t know what happened, I just _found_ him.” Alec takes his son into his arms, his mind suddenly taking him to a time when that was easy. Now, he was holding the weight of a dead man, limp limbs and solid muscle. “I’m really sorry.” The boy runs off before Alec can ask him anymore; with the speed he’s going at, Alec suspects he’s a werewolf.

“Oh Raziel,” Alec breathes as the door shuts. The weight of the world suddenly falls upon his shoulder and he just can’t take it anymore. He lays Rafe on the floor, kneeling alongside him, hand pressed against his chest. “No. Please no,” he gasps, a heart-wrenching sob escaping his throat. His hand trails up to his son’s neck, pressing violently against his pulse point. After a moment, he lets go and allows his head to fall against his son’s chest, tears pooling in Rafe’s black t-shirt, his sobs wracking his body.

Magnus drops down beside him, hands alight with a blinding blue. It pours into Rafe, picking apart each limb, each organ, each cell. Alec moves away, watching his husband work with such vacancy that he doesn’t know if he’s alive either. “We need to bury him,” Magnus gasps.

“What?”

“We need to bury him, now.” Magnus heaves Rafe off the floor and into his arms. “If we want him to live, he needs to be buried _now_.”

“I don’t understand-“

“There’s vampire blood in his veins. He can come back-“

“But he’d be-“

“Yes! Now hurry up and help me.”

“Magnus, we can’t. It’s sunrise.”

“We must-“

“We can wait until nightfall. Get things together. Find out who _did_ this.”

“I- you’re right.” Magnus swallows. “Oh god.” Magnus falls against the wall, Rafe still in his arms; the slam must jolt the walls because Max’s head peeks out from the doorway to his bedroom, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

Max is sixteen now, by their estimate. His blue skin has turned a shade lighter than it was as a child and his horns have grown larger, though they still only protrude forward, not curling around his head like many Magnus has seen before.

“What’s- is that Rafe?”

“Max, go back into your room,” Alec orders, unable to look at his son. The alive one.

“No! That’s Rafe! What-“

“GET IN YOUR ROOM!” Alec’s voice reverberates throughout the room, leaving intrepid fear in its wake. Gritting his teeth, Max takes a step forward; there are tears in his eyes but a determination Alec recognises from himself.

“What’s happened to Rafe.”

“Max-“

“Tell me what’s happened to Rafe,” he breathes out slowly, hands flaring a dangerous shade of navy blue, like nighttime’s thick wisps of darkness have encased his hands. In the sunlight, it always looks like water, as vast as it is powerful. In the darkness, trapped inside these four walls, it’s nothing but dangerous.

“He-“ Alec can’t even get the words out, he chokes on his own tongue and a sob escapes his throat, tears streaming relentlessly down his cheeks, although his face doesn’t move for a second. If he’s going to tell his son that his brother is dead, he’s going to do it face on. “He’s dead.”

“What?”

“There’s vampire blood in his veins,” Magnus says from the floor. He’s staring blankly at their son’s unmoving corpse. In fifteen hours, they’ll reanimate it. “We’re going to bring him back.”

“And he’ll be?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

Max blinks back tears and holds his head up high. He’s a Lightwood-Bane; he shows strength even when he feels his weakest. A few seconds pass as the family stare at what they’ve lost. Max finally opens his mouth, his voice surprisingly steady. “Then what do we need?”


	2. The Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the bringer of bad news. A lot of it, for me. So I vented. Hope that makes this interesting...

Fear cripples him; thoughts of the future an unblemished mark on his skin. Alec tries not to think of the nightmare he’s soon to witness; he’s going to see his own son try and fight out of the clustered dirt, gasping for breaths he no longer needs. Or he’ll see his son trapped under the dirt, struggling, unable to make it.

Magnus has already assured that it won’t happen, not whilst he’s there to watch. They may not be able to dig him up, but they can definitely aid him on his journey.

Alec has more fears than this. He doesn’t say them aloud; sometimes he wonders if he should even be thinking it. His son’s going to be a vampire. A Downworlder.

Immortal.

Alec has always survived with the fact that Magnus will outlive him, as will Max. He’s always hoped that Rafe would too, but there’d been something secure that he could watch Rafe grow, maybe even see him turn into middle age. That he could see wrinkles crinkle his skin, that there would be scars on his skin. There’s something disastrously beautiful about seeing people age, about knowing that they’re following you, in the most cynical kind of way.

But now it’s just Alec. Rafe’s had immortality thrust upon him; he hasn’t been born with it, nor did he choose to be turned. He’ll be crippled with this endless, vast future that he can’t begin to comprehend.

More than that, Alec is worried he’ll be glad. Glad that he gets to live forever, that he gets to be with his family until the end of the line. Except for Alec. Alec will be left behind and they’ll all wonder what made him choose to stay mortal, what made him choose to not turn and join them in their endless stretch of time.

Alec can’t be immortal.

He loves his family, but he doesn’t want them forever. He doesn’t think he could take it. People make the most of their lives because they know they’re going to end; Alec has been doing so from the time he’d been able to walk. To know that there was an eternity to do things, to learn, to act, he thinks he’d be lost.

Magnus agrees. He doesn’t want immortality’s curse to hang over Alec’s shoulders either. Magnus has borne the weight of its burden for centuries; he would never let someone else suffer that. But there’s no denying the gleam in his eyes when he talks about Rafe’s turning, more than the frantic hope that his son will come back to him. There’s a secret glee that he can hoard his family like a nesting dragon, one of so few that won’t leave his side no matter what.

Alec can’t bear it.

So he leaves.

The apartment’s walls feel like they’re crushing and Max’s unbound determination next to Magnus’ fiery hope makes Alec only feel worse in his dejection. He stalks out with purpose, like there’s an aim to his mindless wandering. He knows by now that they won’t stop him if it seems important. They’ll notice soon enough that he hasn’t come back, but Rafe should be enough of a distraction.

Oh Raziel, he’s using his dead son as a _distraction_.

He’s disgusted with himself, down to his very core. It’s like black has tainted his blood and wrapped around his bones in a sticky mixture that restricts his movement. It’s like everything’s slowed down, like each minute is a slugging hour. The world is down to a blur, a cacophony of human and mechanical sounds, as New York always is. But he doesn’t hear it, not really.

He walks.

On and on and on and on and-

He sits down on a bench and lets go. Lets it unravel, like a bloody red ribbon falling to the ground. His empty fist lays open, frail and shaking. Tears taint his eyes and spill down his cheeks and empty sobs rise in his throat. He can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t-

“Alexander.” Magnus is standing there, right in front of him. He’s decked in black, his eyes surrounded by coal that looks like the product of tears. Maybe that’s its purpose; a true representation of mourning, just as much as the brightness of his cat eyes screams hope. It churns Alec’s stomach, a violent sickness spasming his stomach, and he eventually recognises it as guilt. This isn’t Magnus’ fault; this is a disease in his own mind, poisoning his thoughts as much as his actions.

“How did you find me?”

“Followed you straight out.”

“Rafe-“

“Max is old enough to stay with him. I think…he needs some time with him anyway. Alone.”

“He shouldn’t-“

“He can handle himself.”

Alec launches himself upwards. “HE’S SIXTEEN, MAGNUS! And-“ Alec’s voice breaks, his breath heavy against Magnus’ pale and stricken face, “and his brother is dead. You can’t just-“

Magnus stares at him, locking their eyes like a demonic challenge: a test. “What did you want me to do?”

“You didn’t need to follow me.”

“I did. Just because Rafe is…gone, doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re thinking. We’ve been married for 14 years; I think I’d have learnt that much by now.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters! You’re snapping at me, you’re running away. What happened to that Lightwood determination? What happened to never giving up?”

“I- I- I don’t know,” Alec whispers, trembling. Magnus raises his hands slowly and eventually settles them on Alec’s shoulders, drawing his husband into a tight embrace. “It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling.”

“He’s going to be immortal,” Alec sighs, his voice trembling. It’s easier when he doesn’t have to look at Magnus, wrapped up in his comfort instead. Inside his arms, he can’t feel the cold, or the sunlight, only the gentle mantel of years of companionship.

“He is.”

“And he…what if…what if he wants me to be too? I don’t-“

“No one would ever ask that of you.”

“But you’re all going to leave,” Alec sobs into Magnus’ shoulder. “You’re all going to leave.”

“We won’t. We’ll be there until the very end.”

“And then I’ll be gone.”

“You will. But never, _ever_ , will any of us forget you. You know that. I have not seen my mother in centuries but I still think of her every time I see a white flower, remembering what it looked like against her hair. Rafe and Max, you’re their father, they can’t forget you.”

“And you?”

“I love you more than I’ve loved anyone in all the centuries I’ve lived. Of course I can’t forget you.”

Alec breathes out, tugging Magnus closer. His fears aren’t assuaged, nor his anxiety, but something feels mended nonetheless. Maybe he just knows today is not the problem to think of these things. Rafael has to wake up first. Then they’re going to teach him everything they know about vampires, about how his namesake had lived with such honour as one, reforming the way the New York vampires ran. Then they can sit down and talk. With Max too. They can discuss the future, let Alec come clean, let the kids come clean too. If they can ever face it, that is.

But for now, he has a son to bring back.


End file.
